Angels Great Crusade
by JamdoesWarhammer
Summary: This is the story of a Company of the Blood Angel Legion. These are the chronicles of heroes lost to the erosion of time.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

**906.M30. Ninety-nine years before Isstvan**The Compliance of Three-Eighty-Twelve was not going to be peaceful.  
The last sharad of the formality known as discourse was winding to a close, it was not only watched by the eyes of mortal humans, but those also of the Legions Astartes IXth, the Blood Angels.  
The captain of the Blood Angels watched in silence, his features washed cyan-blue by the light of the lithocast display. Two others stood beside him, mighty warriors of his Legion and the Imperium. The three brother's watched the end of discourse for what it was. The harbinger of war.  
The Captain's name was Raphaen. His smooth, pale face was - even by the standards of his legion - beautiful. Two sharp eyes shun below a shock of straw-blond hair. His helm was held in the crux of his arm, the ventral faceplate and horizontal mono-lense of a Mark III great helm.  
The second was different from the first, he was Fenarix, a Terran. His face was that of a cadaver, flayed and re-stitched countless times, it seemed only to be held together by his numerous burn marks.  
The third was built like a bear-man. A shaggy beard of auburn hair ran to his gorget, his hair was shoulder-length. His armour betrayed his almost barbaric features, blood drop amulets went from greave to vambrace. To his brother's he was known as Solun.  
'It is a shame,' said Raphaen, his voice soft. 'That our duty brings us to this.'  
'Aye, lad,' Fenarix's words were a guttural snarl, caused by the vox-piece that allowed him to speak. 'Better to kill ork's than one's own kin. Still, we may still spare blood with our coming actions.'  
'Listen now, it begins.' As Raphaen spoke, his companions focused on a figure walking towards a raised dais; an Imperial Iterator.

Carthal Durmek was scared. Scared of the city-masters of Three-Eighty-Twelve, oh most certainly. How could one such as him not be scared of such men. Many of them had killed and mutilated him and his colleagues. Many were the friends now lost, but his terror was also one of sorrow. Not for the city-masters, oh never for them, but for the common people.  
Before Durmek had reached the dais, a lone figure rose.  
A tall man from a people grown lofty by select breeding was speaking. His costume was elaborate threaded, yet retained a certain practicality to it. Layered robes crowned a chestplate of ceremonial armour like a cape, his headpiece was made of angled metal, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The mosaic craft from it was, _intricuite_. As he spoke, chains that ran from his headpiece swung gently.  
'You have had our answer,' said the man. We have no desire to join your Imperium. We are strong and proud of our independence,' somewhat ironic Durmek thought. The man was named de la Torghun, city-master of Leptkul. He spoke Low Gothic with little accent to his words, the lords of Three-Eighty-Twelve were well cultured.  
Durmek shifted his eye's ever so slowly, looking upon the other twenty-one city-masters of the world. Many, such as Raghalen of Mondus restricted himself to watching. Not deeming the matter one of concern. Those in the last tier, Torghun included, were the foremost masters of the city-masters. Though they held no more control over them than was permitted by their rival's.  
'So I say, begone with your offerings.' Torghun's speech came to a close. Durmek responded in turn.  
Durmek had spoke with Torghun personally, as senior iterator, he had been assigned to the first cadre of ambassadors. He had lost a foot and hand for that, a flesh-graft replacement for his foot had been made, it worked well enough. He was still waiting on his left hand.  
'We no longer offer you any choice in the matter. Do you not understand?' The hurt in Durmek's voice sounded almost genuine. Almost.  
'So…' began another his voice a slow drool, Durmek believed he was named Holtec. '... You offer us peaceful union, no, brotherhood amongst your people.' Holtec. Yes, differently the slow witted city-master Holtec. 'But when we, politely refused your offering, you would back it up with a threat of such heinous action.'  
Ironic considering Holtec's cadre had been mutilated and chained to his city walls before they died, they still hung there. Food for piggish carrion.  
'Your treatment of Imperial iterators was anything but polite,' Durmek spoke up. He had known Holtec' iterator well, young, bright, Malion. 'You mutilated those sent to your city, then you strung them upon your battlements.'  
'We did no such thing!' One shouted, he went unnoticed.  
'An example had to be set!' Roared Holtec. 'You would not listen, after half a cycle no less! We are not as fond of such cruelties as those.' That was debatable, Durmek held his tongue. 'You had left us no choice, we were practically forced to descend to your level of action against discourse.'  
The words unsaid roared in Durmek's mind. You see us as barbarians, he would roar. You were chief in orchestrating these gross injustices, of myself and my colleagues. Yet he kept a calm, cold demeanour.  
'For millennia out world and cities have managed their own affairs,' said another city-master. But at what cost? Wondered Durmek. 'Why should we yield to such a tyrant's rule. This Emperor, this so-called _Master of Mankind_.' She spat. 'We have been visited before, we know of your sin's' Sin. That word, Durmek knew this one as Lady Jesalia.  
'We have heard of the extermination of entire species. The scouring of worlds. All because they would not surrender to tyranny.'  
'It is not surrender. You may retain your, unique, structure of governance. With but a few adjustments. We have been over this many times. We have been very clear.'  
'What adjustments do you call for?' One Durmek did not know asked. 'Will you call upon us to send you our young, to march into a meat grinder. Bagh, I think not. Perhaps this so-called Emperor should come here, to explain to us.' Fool! The word nearly flew from Durmek unwiled.  
'I implore you, my lords and ladies, this is your last chance,' said Durmek. His calm and collected demeanor cracking, the few muscles he retained from his youth tensed. 'We shall be forced to declare war upon you if you do not comply, we shall be made to take your cities. I ask you, please think of your people.'  
One coughed, almost seeming as if he would laugh.  
'Ah, your true colours are shown at last. Conqueror army of a tyrant-king of our old past. Like those of our own making, we have defeated and turned them back, the same shall happen to you.' Said Torghun. 'You say compile, but you intend for sujugatine. Yout promote to us unity, but offer slavery, painted with gamourous words.'  
Unseen to most of the city-master's, a lithocast plinth fluttered into life. They continued to shout, some even threw chalices and goblets at Durmek, save one.  
'We shall not yield to tyranny!'  
'We have to yu we shall not give away our sovereignty. We are unyielding!'  
One spoke up. 'Your forces are to few to best our cities. We will stand unified under one common cause. Our city-fleets may burn, but our cities shall stand proud, our armies defiant. Leave now, let us not wash the land with blood.'  
Another shouted, more foolish bravado. 'You can not defeat us, we are unyielding!'  
It became a chant. Unyielding! Unyielding! Unyielding!  
'Enough!' The roar was low, to low for an un-augmented human. Durmek gave the city-masters a pitiful glance.  
'I am Rapahen, Captain of the Blood Angels Legion, Son of the Great Angel. Your time is up, city-master's. Yield. Those that do shall remain unharmed, their past transgressions shall be wiped clean.'  
Silence gripped every last city-master. For a pregnant second all was calm.  
One rose, one that had been shouting defence a moment earlier. 'You need us, we proposed a treaty, you may pass through our system and leave us, you need us to-'  
'We do not need you. You need us. With us your people may prosper, with us you shall know the fullest extent of what it is to be human.'  
'We will not yield, our armies dwarf that of your own. Our fleet out numbers your own two to one.'  
Raphaen sighed. 'If that is the case, know this. Your fleet shall burn, as shall you all. I have five hundred Blood Angels here, in this system. You have seen the guards we sent with the iterators We have thirty thousand more soldiers of the Imperial Army here, ready to avenge their fallen.'  
One city-master Holtec, stormed from the chamber. Others followed. All save one, he stood and said, 'I am Berun. City-master of Thrustakii, You shall have my declaration of unity by day's end.'  
'I suggest you return to the fleet, Iterator Durmek, for your own safety.'  
'I agree with you, lord Raphaen. I shall convenience with you at your digression lord.'

**Damn, not my best work, I'll admit. So new Fic by me, Please give criticism, and consider this your Christmas present. Till next time.**


	2. Chapter 2 Leptkul

The _Consort of Baal _was a beautiful ship barely twenty years out from her inception in the shipyards of Anvellus, she was the child of a warmason and artisan given form.  
A battle-cruiser whose prow was a gigantic bone-white skull. Gold-cast wings reached back from it down the length of the bow. Maws of torpedoes filled the huge, sightless eye sockets. The rest of the ship was rendered in two colours; from stern to stern it was rich red, edged in black. Golden masks and statues ran its hull.  
In truth it was a lesser geniuses imitation of the Legion flagship; the _Red Tear_. But to any that had never seen that magnificent craft, it was the most gracious craft they had ever seen.  
From the underside of the battle-cruiser, drop-pods came crashing towards Three-Eighty-Twelve.

The first wave of drop-pods fired from the _Consort of Baal_ landed in clouds of fire and smoke as their boosters slowed them after their journey through the atmosphere. As each pod hit the ground, the release bolt on its door-lids burst, and the sides unfolded to reveal its contents.  
Each pod in this wave was Deathwing-pattern, equipped with an array of auto-firing weapon systems. As they opened, the weapons began to pour streams of flames into bunkers, as bolts found their mark in the exposed rear-guard of the city defenders.  
These were the pods targeted at the cities of Leptkul and Hyhad, the cities of Torghun and Holtec respectfully. A second wave was targeted at either city, unmolested by the limited anti-air fire of the cities, they crashed into the cities like crimson tears.

The hatch blew open on explosive bolts and Raphaen had his bolter loose in his hands, ready to kill anyone to inquisitive to come in but it was a sudden flood of yellow-sand water that sloshed in, not an enemy defender. The water was luke-warm, swirling in the angled drop-pod barely reaching his greaves, it was the water of a beach.  
'Forwards!' Raphaen roared. The captain was aware of his men moving behind him as he launched himself out of the drop-pod. He jumped into the water, thigh deep, they were not far from their original target.  
It had been poor odds. They had been targeting for the city port-district, but now they had arrived just a few meters from the beach. Raphaen followed the contrails of the other incoming drop-pods, it seemed only his and two others had fallen short of their intended target. Nearby, be saw Fenarix jump from the lip of his pod and shouting his men forwards.  
There on the shore, pointing with his twin-linked lascannon was the brother-Dreadnought Vorn. The sight of the Dreadnought not firing his mighty weapon told Raphaen all he needed to know; they were alone.  
'Forwards!' called the captain, and he didn't need to turn around to see the elements of his Company following in formation.  
Raphaen marched forwards from the drop-pod with the warriors of squad Hykrion's assault squad at his side, joined by Fenarix's tactical squad. Above them, the volley of drop-pods was falling silent, replaced by a howl of aircraft thrusters.  
'Our brother's will take the port,' Raphaen said. 'We will move into the city, from what I can gather a bastion of sorts is directly north of here. We will split into three squads, Fenarix, take your squad left. Hykrion, take half your squad right, the rest will come with me straight to the target. We will divide the enemy and draw them from our brother's. Vorn, you will accompany Hykrion as support.'  
'Affirmative,' growled the venerable warrior. The three units separated.

It wasn't long before the soldiers of Leptkul became aware of the off-target Blood Angel's in their midst. The green runes signifying Fenarix's and Hykrion's squads turned red, suggesting they had made contact with the enemy and engaged them. The heavy rumble of primitive 'tanks' confirmed this.  
Raphaen's own combat squad remained unnoticed for a time longer. They opted for stealth when possible, they had taken out lone troopers patrolling the streets with the combat knives. They were few and far between each other, Raphaen suspected they were merely fresh-faced reservists.  
Once the Blood Angels spread out from the port-district, a wider cordon was established. People fled towards the city centre, abandoning the safety of their homes. The cartolith's reach grew fast as his squads filled in the city areas behind him. In one instant, an area they had identified as a sprawling preserve was actually a series of built up hab-blocks. A signified rune flashed green in his helm-display, identifying the port-district as secured. A couple more runes followed in quick succession as the combat squad ran further towards the bastion.  
The streets began to broaden. Windows grew from stout to lankey, thick to thin. The homes had oak tables, candles that would give poor light.  
They had penetrated a kilometer and a half into the city, and still no one had come to fight them.  
Raphaen led his men on down a branching alleyway. Half his attention was on the flash of red and green dots and steady stream of combat reports scrolling down his faceplate. He still had enough left over to deal with the men who came heaving out of a side avenue straight into the Blood Angels.  
The men came to a stumbling halt. Too stunned to react, they stared in surprise at the legionaries.  
Raphaen's men were with superior reactions, and had their guns up in a fraction of the time it took the enemy. Mass-reactive bolt-rounds spat into the men, piercing armour and flesh. Bursting, the men were turned into a spray of flesh and armour, a splash of blood.  
The combat squad spread out, guns and blades up.  
'Clear,' said one warrior, Titus.  
'No more from this way,' said another holding his chainsword two-handed, Agermen.  
The others approached other avenues, reporting every one empty.  
'Where is everyone?' Agermen asked.  
'Likely with our brothers,' Raphaen said.  
By now, the Blood Angels had spread out across the southern and half of the eastern districts of Leptkul, and there were few areas in those districts not filled in on the cartholith. The combat squad picked up pace. They approached a wide, open courtyard.  
'Multiple enemy ahead,' Raphaen said. 'Engaging.' His brothers were at his side as he spoke. Solid-rounds criss-crossed the air, Raphaen advanced. A number hit him, pinging off his armour and whipping past his head. Beyond the first enemy troopers he saw a barricade made of wood, crates and sheet metal. Dozens of Leptkel's defenders were taking aim with their primitive weapons.  
A fletcher round came flying past his head, he saw a lone trooper near the centre of the barricade, loading his gun like a soldier from a bygone age, one shot at a time.  
In return, the Blood Angels' bolters cut down the men without mercy. The courtyard was awash with a river of blood, chunks of meat were flung wide, creating ponds of vitae.  
Raphaen changed targets quickly, putting down their enemy one after the other. A flechette impacted an assault marine, Sazor, blood leaked from his left arm. He blasted his would-be-killer with the last bolt in his magazine.  
'Who would have thought,' the wounded legionary said with a laugh. 'That they actually had something capable of wounding one of us.'  
'More are approaching,' Titus stated, he and Agermen flung themselves against the barricade. The Luptkelians were numerous, but they were being slaughtered.  
'Are they not afraid?' Sazor asked.  
'Perhaps they know something we do not,' answered Raphaen.  
A flurry of flechettes hit Titus in the knee, he went to his knee. He was still firing as a round hit his faceplate. The great-helm crumpled around his cheek. The point emerged through the upper left side of his skull, he slammed into the barricade, the flechette acted as a nail of sorts.  
'Titus!; roared Agermen, his chainsword bisecting his brothers killer. He moved with raw savagery, but an art was behind it. He moved like an expert swordsmen, none of his attacks were wasted. For a moment Raphaen considered that, then relegated it as something for later.  
The enemy were shouting to one another, pointing at Agermen. Some fired, hitting each other, though one hit but did not penetrate Agermen's shoulder guard. Agerman racked the closest soldiers with his chainsword, chewing flesh.  
Raphaen ran forwards, bolt firing one-handed. Savor and the last brother, Artonus followed. Another salvo of flechettes and solid-rounds ripped the air, forcing the legionaries down and their shots wide.  
Agermen finished the last trooper, his armour was splashed with blood. He moves towards Titus.  
'Brothers,' Raphaen said over company-vox. 'We have engaged enemy forces with flechette rounds, they are capable of killing us. Brother Titus of Squad Hykrion was the price of this information.'A snap of affirmative answered as Raphaen turned to face Agermen.  
He had removed the flechette from Titus, and rested his head forwards. 'I promise you brother,' he said. 'Your legacy shall live on.'  
From what Raphaen could see, the assault marine's progenoid glands were intact.  
Agermen rejoined his brothers. 'Let us continue on brothers,' he said swinging meat from his chainsword.  
'Agermen,' Raphaen said. 'For a moment you looked like a warrior of the Fifth.'  
Agermen snorted a laugh. 'Were they as good looking as me.'  
The vox crackled in Raphaen's ear. 'Go,' he said.  
'Brother,' it was Fenarix that spoke. 'We are securing the bastion, Torghun is dead. He tried to kill us with an explosive device.'  
'Very well brother, have the enemy commanders present call for surrender of their forces. With luck, we shall finish his battle today. Then, we shall crush Holtec.' Raphaen said. 'Also brother, make sure the news of Torghun's fate spreads.'

**Well, that was certainly an effort. So, I think this fic is finally starting to take shape. So, I ask you for a favour. Where would you like this to go? Also, what mistakes can you see in this so I can fix and then re-upload this chapter.  
So to you all, thank you for your support. And, since I likely won't upload then. Happy New Year.**


	3. Chapter 3 Fall of Hyhad

**CHAPTER THREE**

When the first ship deaths were reported, they turned from a stream to a cascade. Lance-beams and macro cannons opened fire, splitting the black-hulled craft of the city-fleets. A frigate died the opening volley, it had been making for the main body of the Expeditionary Fleet, a fireship. Its deadly payload had become a handicap in place of advantage.  
Holtec watched it all from the command centre, noting the number of ships dwindling from the dozens to the tens. He was sacrificing the one unifying force the city-masters possessed, all for a matter of moments. It was worth every life lost.  
The command centre was deadly silent, despite the crowds of officers, city-priests and scribes that occupied it. A squad of his household guard stood in the alcoves of the chamber, their solid-jaw features locked like death.  
'They are focusing on Torghun,' he observed, directing the statement at no one in particular.  
'Of course they are,' said his master-at-arms. 'You were right - they know an easy target when it presents itself. Then again, it takes little skill to do so.'  
'They will begin a bombing run soon,' my lord,' said another attendant.  
The atmosphere screamed as clouds were torn and split. River banks followed soon after. Bulwarks ruptured, the outer city walls crumbled.  
'Get to the bunker, my lord.' The master-at-arms said. It was not a request. And Holtec was in no state to resist.

The Blood Angels came down on Hyhad. Tens of dozens of drop-craft at a time burned through the atmosphere. They were a hail of iron, the sky falling upon the land in one storm after the other.  
The Thunderhawk _Litany of Sanguinius_ left the _Consort_ and plunged towards the burning city. Now that he finally saw it with his own eyes, the destruction of what must have been a beautiful city saddened Solun greatly. Seated opposite him in the troop compartment, accompanied by the nine warriors in his squad, the Techmarine, Skaran said, 'The city is collapsing. It was never intended to stand against anything like this.'  
'Truly brother,' Solun replied, dragging his chainsword from his hip. 'Your an expert in the emphyric and the rational.'  
The Techmarine laughed, it was a harsh sound, but a welcome one. 'It is an insult to the purity of the machine.'  
'What, dragging it out?'  
'No, wasting it on such an enemy. I would see them yield, not butchered.'  
'Where we so fortunate.'  
'Brother-Seregant, Techmarine Skaran. We have arrived at ut destination. Dropping ramp now.' The pilot of the craft said, voice cutting out as the gunship ramp slammed down.  
The hollowed thumb was followed by the flat-bang of bolt-round detonations.

The drop pod's retro-thrusters fired. The grav-harness strained around Castern's broad-shoulders with the sudden deceleration. He grinned fervently, this was what he lived for. He anticipated the bone-rattling impact, something which would turn a mortal to pulp. It came, and the pod's petal-flow body bloomed as the doors slammed down. Castern stormed out of the pod with the rest of the squad, behind his sergeant, joining the muster of their battlegroup.  
Overhead, the contrails of drop pods and lifters clawed the sky, scarring it with white lacerations. East and south of where Castern stoid, the city trembled with the landings and the gathering forces of the Blood Angels. There were far fewer craft coming down in the north and west. The brothers of Castern's squad were in the vanguard. The enemy where near, it would not be a long journey to reach them.  
Rhinos rumbled forwards over broken masonry and towards the battlegroup. Smokestacks humming contently. Castern followed Sergeant Ralor into the_ Baalfora Resplendent._ The armour arriving with a continuous rumble.  
Next to Castern, Mendrion muttered, 'More sitting. No fighting.' His disapproval was shared. The warriors under Ralor were still young, testing themselves.  
'There will be plenty of fighting later,' Ralor said, turning to the young-blood. 'But first we have to reach the enemy.'  
'Of course, Sergeant Ralor. Consider me happy to this short wait.'  
'So noted,' he turned to face the driver. 'Siten, the order is given. Forwards.'

The armoured column roared across the broken city, painting the wide streets red with their bodies. Ralor raised the copula to look out over the city streets, taking in the destruction. The vehicles in red-and-gold filled the air around him with choking clouds of exhaust. The air of Hyhed was cold, now warm with the flames of its destruction.  
At the head of the column, to Ralor's left, the Spartan _Sanguine Heart_ increased its speed to lead the charge. It was the Warden's command vehicle, and Gorn rode in a similar manner to the sergeant, his power maul aimed forwards. Ralor's heart swelled as he watched the Warden, starting to list great deeds of the Legion.  
The Warden raised his hand, then lowered it.  
Charge.

Solun's united clambered over the parapets of the city-masters mansion, using the small recesses in the wall and the gear they had requisitioned from the Reconnaissance Squads.  
The plan was going well, the mansions most competent defenders had been drawn up into the kill-line that the armoured column under Gorn had targeted. Solun and his squadmates accompanied by Skaran, had made their way through the bombed-out northern limits, and successfully avoided any of the city defenders barricades and combat-patrols. Though the threat of the still present defenders was still there.  
Six mortals against eleven Blood Angels. The city-master's household guard all died barely aware of what killed them. A simple butt-bash from Solun's boltgun snapped the neck of a guard with a wet crack.  
The Blood Angels victims had barely hit the cold stone of the parapet before they broke into a run for the command centre. A transmitter spike protruded from an old ferrocrete building, the main communication network no doubt.  
Solun was first into the command centre complex. A sterile iron column ended in a set of blast doors, sealed prior the Blood Angels arrival. An engineer in orange overalls came out of a side door, he was casually bisected by Skaran as he approached the door.  
'Faster this way,' the Techmarine said, priming a mag-locking elta charge as he went. He paused as he examined the door. 'Structural weakness upper left, and lower right. Faulty craftsmanship.'  
The Techmarine clamped the melta charge to the upper left quarter and stepped to the side.  
'Breaching,' he said, and triggered the detonator device built into his vambrace. The melta blast, channelled directly into the heavy door, bored a hole in the armoured plating. The whole frame shuddered, and the upper left was turned to molten slag.  
'Kratoz,' Solun said, the largest member of his squad slammed shoulder-first into the blast door. Once, twice, thrice. With the door already damaged, it took little to make it slam into the marble floor beyond.  
Beyond them, from behind communications and city maps, engineers, communication and military officers stared wide-eyed at the red giants.  
'Officers of the Hyhad military, we ask only for your immediate surrender. Yield now and you and your people shall go unharmed. We want only city-'  
The bark of a autogun cut into Solun's words. The sergeant was peppered by a hail of light-arms weapon-fire. A dozen guards and officers were firing at him and his brothers, shots going wide with panic. 'Kill those you have to,' he said, chainsword revving.  
Many of those present hid behind their system screens. Filed-outposts throughout the city would hear the killing and sobbing, it made Solun feel discussed, like he was a mad-man of the Night Lords.  
The last of the resistance died down, his defiant roar cut of by Kratoz.  
'Skaran, make sure everything is as it should be.' Solun ordered him. 'You there,' he pointed to an officer. 'Where does you city-master hide himself?'  
'Bunker, just below this chamber. Please don't kill me.'  
Solun nodded. 'I have no intention to mirder you. Ulgi, Ekarun, go and secure the city-master.' The named legionaries departed.  
The Techmarine removed his helm, letting his calm voice fills the chamber. 'Everything is as it needs to be, now we need only Holtec.'

The cities defenders were suicidal, or so Castern had concluded. A landcar, with the city-emblem emblazoned on its bonnet, raced up from the main boulevard into the Regal Square, tyres squealing. Its occupants seeming to only notice the red giants as they decelerated, it turned about far faster than its small form would suggest.  
Two more cars followed it not long after, each one strapped with explosive devices. The first detonated short of the Rhino, but took brothers Arrian and Deon with it. The second died as fast as it appeared.  
The brothers of Squad Ralor had been assigned guard duty of the Square, they were to prevent a counter-attack from any troops left alive. Evidently, there were more of them than anticipated  
The Sergeant, Castern and Mendrion occupied the steps of a cathedral of marble, whilst the other five brothers were spread across the Square, the Rhino driver, Siten, manned the storm bolter.  
'Sergeant Ralor,' the voice of Warden Gorn crackled over the vox-link. 'We are seeing a large number of enemy bodies moving on your position. I am re-tasking Litany of Sanguinius to strafing runs of the enemy.'  
Ralor acknowledged with a blink-click.  
'The enemy are upon us, brother's. It is time to do our duty. For Sanguinius and the Emperor!'

Holtec was dragged from his bunker, covered in the blood of his household guard. It did not take long for him to arrive in the command centre of his forces. He was forced to his knees by one of the red brutes. He stifled a cry at the pain.  
One of the giants went unhelmed. An auburn haired barbarian, his armour decorated in riches the like Holtec had never seen before. Even now, in fear for his life, he felt a pang of jealousy.  
'You were wrong,' the barbarian said. 'You believed that Torghun was the easier target. You were wrong.' It was a fact. Or that was how the barbarian was presenting it.  
'You may yet survive this,' he continued. 'All I ask is for your surrender, then you and your citizens shall he welcomed into the fold of humanity's restoration.'  
Holtec nodded.  
'Skaran, ready the communication systems. City-master Holtec has a few words to say.'

'All Blood Angels, fire at will.'  
The sergeant issued the order over the squad vox-net to those facing down the horde of mortal soldiers facing down the defenders of the Regal Square. The open space resounded with the thunderclap of massed bolter fire as his warriors opened fire. The leading edge of the horde, - for that was the best description of the press of bodies - flooding the Square, shuddered as they were cut to ribbons.  
Ralor scanned the initial salvo, auto-senses logging estimated damage and casualty ratios. The horde had been checked, but the pause would not last. Numbers were still pouring in from the surrounding streets, choking the passages with bodies. _Litany of Sanguinius_ had also nosed down to strafe the long, congested roads, but it's bolters and battle cannons had soon dried up, and the amount of fire the troopers brought to bare was enough to send the Thunderhawk running.  
The enemy charge was truly suicicial. Many would die, but they knew one thing for certain. They could kill these red giants, a smaller measure of revenge, if nothing else.  
'Ready for the next wave,' Ralor said, changing magazine. 'I doubt it will end as easily.'

Raphaen had left Fenarix to watch over Leptkul. The last of the resistance had been dying down as the captain had boarded _Red Sorrow_. With him came the survivors of Hykrion's squad and the Dreadnought Vorn. Agermen was still clutching his blade tightly.  
'Brother-Captain,' came Gorn's harsh voice. 'I see you have finished the pacification of Leptkul.'  
'Indeed we have, Gorn. I also see that Holtec has been taken alive. But I doubt this is a social call between old friends.'  
'Indeed. Currently the enemy are threatening to break through out rear-guard. I am requesting you move into aid Squad Ralor.'  
Raphaen saw the coordinates of the squad appear on his map of the city. 'Very well, brother. I shall leave the heavy lifting to you then. But I would like for their to be as few casualties taken as possible.'  
He spoke now to the pilot and brothers in the hold. 'We go to the Regal Square, out friend Ralor has gotten himself into a spot of bother.'

The fighting in Regal Square was no longed one-sided. Troops had occupied rooftops and balconies on the flanking sides of the Blood Angels. Small-arms fire gave way to flechette-rounds, followed by the hard thumps of primitive autocannons. The fire was inaccurate chewing up the stone around the Angels, but the sheer volley of it had already taken legionary Thomaticus. Ralor knew that he was unable to divert sufficient firepower to the rooftop attackers, for fear of the horde pushing closer.  
Armour was moving up now, landcars with autocannons bolted to them, to armoured carriers sporting flamers. They raced down the narrow streets towards the Angels, and were met by a hunter-missile from the Rhino. But the burning wreck provided more cover than a roadblock. In less than twenty minutes, fire was being poured into Ralor's squad, as their numbers began to wither. Ralor called a retreat into the cathedral. Trusting that Siten could close the Resplendent against the horde of soldiers. He blink-clicked a message to Gorn, informing him to the current situation.  
Ralor barred the steps at the doors with his brothers - Castern and Mendrion. The mortals weapons clattered in a heavy tattoo calling for the Angels deaths. The legionaries met them with chainsword and bolt pistol. Blood ran in a thick river down the cathedral steps, the chainblades rending everything they touched.  
'Into the cathedral,' Ralor commanded. He took a step back, still killing the mortals. Castern fired at point-blank range to let the sergeant enter without the mortals forcing themselves inside.  
Mendrion, for all his overconfidence and boastfulness, was a giant and skilled warrior. He was as tall and broad as a warrior in Tartaros-pattern Terminator Armour. As Ralor stepped into the cathedral, it was Mendrion that pushed the giant locking bolts into place, barring entry for now.  
'Gorn,' Ralor voxed. 'Gorn!'  
'I hear you sergeant,' the Warden replied. 'Reinforcement is on its way. What is your current status.'  
'Five of us, including Siten, are still alive. If only just. Brother Vulan is missing an arm, he took an autocannon round to the chest. His pharmaceutica is nearly empty.' He said, placing some of his own vials into the young warriors own. 'We are low on ammunition. Currently, we have barricaded the doors to the cathedral. Though I don't see them lasting much longer.' He finished, inclining for Castern to move Vulan towards the back of the cathedral.  
'Understood, Ralor. Tell me, is the roof glass, and if so how large.'  
Ralor looked up. 'Confirmed. Its big enough to get two Mastodons in line.'  
'Good. Now hold out for as long as possible, the call for surrender has just gone out. With fortune, your assailants will listen to reason.'  
'Affirmative, I shall hold out as long as possible. For Sanguinius and the Emperor.'  
Castern took the right flank, Mendrion the left, that left the centre of the cathedral to Ralor. 'We do not leave this place unless we have a carpet of bodies.' Ralor said, receiving a snort from Mendrion.  
The great doors came crashing down, and an army flooded the cathedral with solid-round ammunitions. As one, the three Blood Angels returned fire.

Mendrion had been rushed, a dozen mortals had clambered over him, slowing his movements with the press of their bodies. They stabbed at him with fixed bayonets. They stabbed at his fibre bundles and soft-seals. Finally one pressed a flechette-rifle to his throat and fired. He was skewered on it like a boar. Castern killed them with his last frag grenade.  
He had failed.  
That was when the sound of the glass roof shattering filled the cathedral.  
Reinforcements had arrived.  
Vorn's arrival had shattered the glass roof. The Contemptor himself landed in the centre of the enemy body, turning them to a gory pulp. Yet more were wounded by the lacerations of the glass fragments, eyes, calves, joints, all cut deep.  
Vorn took two steps towards the great doors, great metal feet cracking the floor. He swivelled his body as he went, examining the mortals fear as he went. The denders surge had been checked by the arrival of the ancient.  
Vorn raised his might lascannon, and fired.  
More Blood Angels appeared from the roof, Assault Marines of Squad Hykrion. With newfound vigour, Ralor and Castern lept into action.  
'Lad,' Vorn said, turning his body to Ralor. 'Stand aside for the moment, you glory dog. Get you and your charges to the Sorrow. Captain Raphaen would see you three live this through.'  
With a nod, the sergeant and younger warrior went to collect Vulan.  
'Look at the log,' Castern said. 'The surrender signal went out earlier. Damned whoresons.'  
Ralor nodded. 'Don't let anger get you down yet. Not with Vulan like this.'

**Wow, so that is the biggest chapter I have written in either of my two stories. I mean wow, that was a real challenge. Especially with what I wanted to do with it, couldn't just go all drop pod assault like last time. I really think this will be my new goal for this story. Till next time, please enjoy and review if willing. **


	4. Chapter 4 Departure

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Draken Aluctus went to work. His faceless Mark II Crusader helm gave no expression, but behind it he frowned. The reductor gave a high-pitched shudder as it bit through armour into charred flesh, the tip digging into the corpse before it opened and stripped it of the gene-rich meat glands. Each progenoid was a DNA sequence of a Legion, this one being that of the IX Legion. From it would grow two copies of it, and from them two more and so on. From each gland was a set of organs grow, and from each set, a new legionary raised up from the masses of un-augmented human youths.  
The Apothecary placed his deceased brothers progenoids into a hermetic capsule, and from there, he placed the capsule into a seal-pouch at his hip. It was Draken's duty, as senior Apothecary of his Company, to attend to these matters. Few of the bodies he had examined had been lacking a gland or both, only those that had suffered neck-shots had lost a gland. All would live on, in one way or another.  
He went to the next body, this one's faceplate had been crumpled. The flechette-round that had killed him was gone, taken by a mortuary serf for desposale. Draken read out the warrior's name and squad ranking, 'Titus.' He liked to note these things down. 'A young warrior, a shame.'  
He knelt beside the dead warrior, reductor giving a high-pitched shudder as it had the last.

Hyhad had been turned to rubble first, every man, woman, child and beast evicted in the aftermath of the fighting. Nothing remained to call it a settlement, much less a city-state, but it was in Hyhad that Raphaen raised the IX Legions banner.  
Survivors came, they were civilians, former soldiers and nobles of the city. Here were youths supporting their elders, the rich guiding the poor through ruined estates to their destination. All brought together in the misery.  
The simple gratitude for being alive united them.  
There was something remarkable about the willpower that humanity possessed that made Durmek smile, it always surprised him to see it. From the tox-wastes of Terra from which he had been raised, to the killing-fields of Gorthia XII, humanity always survived.  
And now, the shell-shocked survivors of Hyhad populace thanked him and the Army troopers for almost wiping them out. Their gratitude was unfounded, they had almost been killed by those they thanked. Was it fear, or awe?  
Durmek kept his thoughts to himself. He did no one justice by speaking his thoughts aloud. He was anImperial Iterator, he was here for peace, not war. But was war not the final way to peace? No. It was a barbaric practise from an old age, returned to use for the cause of enlightenment.  
When Raphaen had called for the populace to put forward a council of leaders, it was Durmek who brought them to the captain. Of the four, three were of an older sort, two men and a woman in rich cloth, the last was a man of middling age, his clothing that of an officer of sorts.  
'I see that your people trust in the wisdom of you elders,' he said to them as they disembarked from the landcar, though calling it such did its size no justice.  
'Not really,' replied the officer. 'We were just the most senior acting officials that survived. Watch Master Erdon, by the way.' Erdon said, with a dip of the head.  
They looked in wonder and awe at their surroundings. Amongst the rubble of the city the Blood Angels and Expeditionary Auxillia had worked quickly, combining prefabricated defences with freshly constructed buildings. Ferrocrete roads were being laid out about the old city centre, whilst pavements were recovered and rebuilt. Between them armoured transports acted as mobile barracks and comm-links, whilst drop-craft deposited fresh materials for the cities reconstruction.  
The city's old ghettos had been a pit of squaller, as bad as any Durmek had seen on any other world. That was one of humanity's most common trends, poverty did not change no matter where it was seen. The chance of disease spreading from the ghettos was too great for the reconstruction efforts, so they had been burned clear by flame-teams.  
In their place, outposts consisting of landing-pads had been erected across the ruins, as much to act as a place for the patrol craft as a place for future expansion of the city. From these zones Blood Angels and Army Auxillia enforced an exclusion cordon around the central encampment, ensuring a free-fire zone for those within the inner defences. Food and medical aid were distributed from these posts, and from them smaller encampments. These were protected by an escrt of troopers, to better ensure an equal distribution of goods.  
Order, Raphaen had decreed, would be enforced.  
The Company Captain had been busy with his own duties, keeping his own counsel, except to receive hourly updates on Hyhad, the other city-states and Fenarix's status.  
Durmek ushered the council leaders into the Expedition headquarters. Even in the makeshift encampment, there was evidence of the Legions involvement. Heavy armour was parked and undergoing maintenance besides a motor pool of civilians transports.  
The captains headquarters were those of a Thunderhawk. Red-and-gold in the colours of the Legion, the Red Sorrow stood on clawed landing feet, a tent of sorts covered the lowered assault ramp, covering those inside from the worst of the cold.  
Two Baal-pattern Predators flanked the entrance to the Thunderhawk, in turn protected by an overlapping firezone of bunkers and tarantula sentry guns. Unlike the las and predator autocannons of other Legions, the Baal-pattern sported flamestorm cannons and twin assault cannons.  
A detachment of ten troopers in azuret carapace armour stood in honour guard before the tent, troops of the Expeditions main Army Regiment, the Ulthoxian Janissaries.  
They parted for Durmek and his charges, as they did so they raised their lasguns in salute, then pressed a fist to their forehead, as was their way.  
'You are their commander?' Erdon asked, looking back at them.  
'No,' Durmek said. 'Their commander is currently in Leptkul, those men have been seconded to the Legion commander.'  
'And who is that?'  
'He is.'

Within the Thunderbird the benches and bulkheads that usually filled the rear of the main compartment had been cleared to create an open space. Glow-globs in the ceiling and recesses gave off a stark light, almost blinding any with the gold-chasing's of the interior. It did not hold the same grandeur that the Consort possessed.  
Durmek, in this instance liked it. This was one of those situations in which the Imperium's charity and not wealth was needed.  
In this place, servitors in iron-and-red hobbled, attending to whatever task they had been assigned by Legion Techmarines and tech priests.  
Raphaen stood in the hatch between the compartment and cockpit. The light of the sun fell upon the captain from the cockpit, casting his features in a shadow.  
He lowered his head a fraction as Durmek stepped across the threshold of the Thunderbird, the elected councillors huddled around the iterator like a child. The captain looked at each of them in turn. They all turned from his scrutinizing gaze, only Erdon seemed to hold it for a moment.  
'You are the elected leaders of your city,' the captain said. 'You have taken up a great responsibility, it will take a great deal of time to prepare your world for the Imperium.'  
'With your aid, I am certain we can do anything,' the women of the group said. 'My lord.' She added in deference.  
'Your name, my lady?' Raphaen stepped from the hatch, armour humming as he went.  
'Juvia, my lord. Juvia de Gran.'  
'You seem to be a… perceiving woman, Juvia de Gran. You shall indeed be granted aid from the Expeditionary Fleet. But my Legion shall be departing by the end of what you class as a week.'  
Raphaen walked forwards, a soft smile on his face as he spoke. 'I understand what I ask you to do. I ask you four, where once there were many, to govern a city. And then, perhaps, a world. But do not think I do this on unfound bases. If we return autonomy, no matter how little, to a people that resisted us. Then those that still harbour ill-will towards us will see we are not as we seem.'  
'So we are to be your what, shining examples.' The officer Erdon said.  
'Indeed.'  
'And what of our city… Former city-master?' Again, it was Erdon that spoke.  
'He shall face punishment for his crimes against both his own people and the Imperium.'  
Raphaen ushered for the council to depart, an unceremonial action.  
'For the foreseeable future,' said Durmek. 'I shall be your liaison with the Expeditionary Fleet, and by extension, the Imperium itself. I will contact you when next we are to convene on matters.'

The hull of the Thunderhawk resonated with the vibrations of the engines, and reflected shards of pale sunlight across the viewports as the craft threaded its way through the Expeditionary Fleet. Standing free between the troop compartment and cockpit, Draken looked out from the starboard viewport, looking out at the assembled fleet, the red-and-gold of the Blood, mixed with the grey-and-black of the Imperial Army. He was pleased by the sight of his Legion's warfleet, the beautiful craft hung in the void at the port most anchorage.  
Smaller craft hung about the _Consort of Baal_, be those the fleet-tenders _Lance of Jove_ and _Encarmine Justice_, or the bulkier escort's _Terra's Justice_ and _Heart of Illumination._  
The Thunderhawk banked as it passed over a wing of Raven Interceptors in a teardrop formation, and Draken looked down on the flame-trails of the craft, the craft formed the Legion symbol.  
He raised his head again to scan the Blood Angels fleet, aboard them were the scions of Baal and Terra, Saiph and dozens of other worlds, forever reshaping the galaxy.  
The Thunderhawk's blunt nose was turning and suddenly a wall of adamantium was ahead of them. The heart of the Blood Angel fleet lay ahead.  
Draken tok a breath. It was an effort to turn away from the mighty starship, but he did so nevertheless. His eyes fell upon a rack of sombre grey caskets, each one containing the Geen-seed of a fallen warrior.  
Other craft flew besides his own, but they carried the arms and armour of his fallen brothers and their , the most important thing to recover from a fallen Astartes was his progenoids.  
The Thunderhawk dipped and the smoothness of void-flight gave way to the shudder of atmospheric flight as the craft entered the battlecruisers embarkation deck.  
Draken took a last look out of the viewport, and saw red iron brilliance.

Sortes out towards the Mandeville point of freshly compliant systems were rare, and despite the name such locations were very rarely fixed points in space. The term fell to any location that fell beyond the gravity well of a star to allow translation into the warp. In essence, a system was covered by an invisible sphere that on its very skin and beyond, allowed for translation to the warp.  
Navigators and shipmasters had discovered early on the best locations for such locations in the freshly compliant system. Already, a name had been given to the greatest of those. The Dolen Gate, named so after a ship Navigators.  
And such points were much more frequently visited.  
Four Blood Angels vessels followed a stately course towards the Dolan Gate. One destroyer, the _Grail Host_ and two frigates, the _Terra's Justice_ and _Heart of Illumination,_ bristled with gun-wales and spires, the last the _Consort of Baal._  
The small flotilla had set out for the Mandeville point two days prior, ahead of the slower Legion craft. The Dolan Gate lay on the opposite side of the system from their prior anchorage. Raphaen secluded himself from the governing of his Legion vessels, he left that to the mortal shipmaster, a wheezing relic named Gyndon.  
When the Blood Angels craft reached the Gate, it was a wholly unremarkable ordeal. The geller fields had flickered to life, filing the air with a chlorine tang. The plasma drives had been hushed, replaced by the thrumming of the warp drives.  
And then, in a cauldron of madness, they were gone.

**A much shorter Chapter than the last one, I know. This was just there to give the best closure I could to this opening part of the story. I have a few ideas for what I want to do with this Fic. So, if you have anything to say, please review.**


	5. Chapter 5 Translaton-Error

**Chapter Five.**

**907.M30. Six months after travelling via the Dolan Gate.**

'Where are we?' Raphaen demanded.  
'Still unknown,' said Gyndon, the aged shipmaster of the strike cruiser. He observed the discontent in the captain's eyes. There was far more than frustration there. The captain had expected to reach their destination unimpeded. He was reacting to the failure with rarely reserved scorn. Gyndon could guess why, he wished he could not. The last battle had taken a toll of the Legion Company, the translation from the warp even moreso. One of the escort ships, the _Terra's Justice_, had been lost, and with it a full complement of Astartes. Ten Blood Angels and some six thousand well trained ratings. All for the cost of - to their perspective - a quarter year in transit through the warp.  
It was made worse only by the point of their arrival.  
The Consort of Baal strained, struggling to keep to its course. Rolling gravitational forces battered the Blood Angel flotilla with a volley of asteroids and debris. The vessels had translated on the edge of a system locked in mayhem. The boundary of the system was marked by the remains of a world. In all directions, mayhem folded in on the flotilla.  
A labyrinthian construction of remains was what the chief auspex officer - a woman named Serphia - had said. Though such a description almost seemed to provide order to the mayhem. Gyndon had been born amongst the sea-faring naval families of Vartek, a minor world in the Segmentum Solar. This reminded him of the great monsoons that had crashed against his home city during the Months of Endurance, but instead of spindly limbed creatures from the deep thrown against the vast city, asteroids were flunk wildly against the adamantium skin of these great vessels. Each worth more than his home world as he had known it.  
Beyond the labyrinth, a lull presented itself. Just within the mid-point of the system, where the gravitational force palled before that of the sun, order seemed to impose itself.  
Raphaen was in communication with Lord Casmir, the ships Chief Navigator in his ovoid cell. They were struggling to get a fix on the fleets current position.  
'Your displeasure is as evident as ever, Lord Casmir,' Raphaen said.  
'Why thank you, my lord Raphaen. I do my utmost to be predictable.' Casmir said over the vox, projecting his delicate accent over a vox-horn of antique make. 'Though I must say, I had not expected our journey to take us to such a… remote place.'  
'Indeed?' Raphaen said.  
Raphaen pulled a data-slate from a desk, it was military-grade. Or as anyone amongst the Expedition Fleets would call it, reliable. At least that's how Gyndon perceived them as being.  
'I want your input on this,' the captain said, putting the slate back on the desk.  
'I will tell you what I can, but I would place us in the region of our destination. Perhaps a system between the two, one which has managed to draw us in somehow. I can not be certain, I shall convein with the Astropaths and those others that may provide assistance to discerning our destination.'  
The captain looked out of the oculus, examining what he saw, he said. 'Do as you must,' before closing the vox-link.  
'Captain,' Raphaen said, turning to Gyndon. 'I want the ship and company officers gathered in the strategium in one hours time, that includes you.'  
Gyndon nodded saying, 'Of course, captain.'

Many of the assembled officers were trashuman, Blood Angels whose collective age was far greater than the newfound Imperium's own.  
As Raphaen emerged at the head of the strategium, he saw Gyndon talking with the captain of the _Grail Host_, a woman in her early thirties named Jarla Eshran. She had come recommended from the Jovian's, though she was far different from them in her physique. Raphaen caught the subtle contours of her body, the subtle covering of her athletes body by her uniform.  
Draken, the Apothecary, talked with Skaran and the chief tech-priest a wheezing cadaver named Taharen, his cheeks and chest were a map of ribbed brass valves and pistons, connecting to a large back-jar of dirty green fluid.  
An unlikely assembly if ever there was one.  
Gorn stood apart from the mortal officers, shooting his eyes up at the captain with a dip of his head. For all his stubbornness outside of combat, the Warden respected Raphaen greatly, though he rarely showed it.  
Others were present, a sergeant from the Tactical, Assault and Support elements of the Company had been chosen to represent their divisions. It was the best Raphaen could do, his lieutenant-commander had died too soon to find a replacement, even during the journey through the warp.  
More figures stood back around the strategies walls, aids and junior officers of varying age and experience. These were the human's that helped run Raphaen's small flotilla.  
'Please, let us not tire ourselves by lurking in the shadows,' Raphaen said, gesturing for the mortals to sit around the large wooden table in the rooms centre. It was an antique, used only for gatherings with dignitaries when they would not host the Legion representatives themselves.  
'Lord Casmir has informed me of our current location,' Raphaen said, joining the mortals around the table. 'We are in a system designated as being NC. There have been reports of a minor ork presence operating in this area. As such, no real effort had been made to establish our rule over it.'  
Sergeant Izharfer, the representative of the Support Squads, tapped his left augmetic hand on the table rhymically. His face was square-jawed, scarred, blunt features and expressionless. 'So we are to face the greenskin's then?' He asked, his words grating.  
'If we discover any, then yes, brother. We will be facing the ork's present in the system.' Raahaen said, continuing. 'I have spoken with the choir, Mistress Alleria and Lord Casmir agree that we are in range to contact the nearest compliant system. One named Hadrubael.'  
A murmur broke out amongst the junior officers.  
'We shall contact them and inform them of our situation,' Raphaen said, ending the discourse. 'From there we shall make as swift a departure as possible. Now then, are there any other matters to be raised here?'  
No one spoke.  
'Very well then, the flotilla is to adopt a position in the midst of the gravitational lull. From there we shall secure our location as best as possible. If the ork's are present here, then we shall be ready. Dismissed.'  
Raphaen looked as his officers departed. All save Fenarix. 'Brother-Captain,' he said, stopping beside the captain. 'This was no mear translation error was it?'  
'No, brother. Lord Casmir is et unsure as to what has occurred here. But in time, I believe we shall uncover what brought us here.'  
Fenarix nodded, then departed. Leaving Raphaen to himself.

**Jam here, well then, seems our friends here have ended up in a predicament of sorts. But whatever could have caused it? I guess we will have to find out another time, till then, I've been Jam.**


	6. Chapter 6 Greenskin

**Chapter Six**

'Ere we go boyz!' Roared kaptin Rottfez as he pushed Da Big Red Button.

'Contact,' said Serphia. 'Not one of ours.'  
'I want energy signatures and identities,' said Raphaen. 'Captain, bring in the patrol craft.'  
Just to his side, Gyndon said, 'As you command, captain. Shall I bring us into attack formation?' To which he received a nod.  
Signals came in from the patrol craft and escorts. '_The_ Grail Host_stands by_,' said Eshran, female captain of the destroyer.  
Raphaen heard the soft thrum of a las-weapon under the captains words, she always did hope to use that las-pistol of hers.  
'Acknowledged, Eshran,' said Gyndon. 'Form up ahead of the Consort, prepare for spear-thrust.'  
'Contact classification identified and confirmed,' said Serpahia. 'Ork kill-kroozer.'  
'Ork's,' grumbled Fenarix, the old sergeant was smiling. 'About time I found a worthy foe.'  
'More contacts,' Seraphia said. 'At least half a dozen smaller ships, enemy… bombers and intercepts confirmed. They are accelerating for us, estimated time, three minutes.'  
'To be expected,' Raphaen stated. 'The greenskins would not think of anything beyond a brute force attack. Fenarix, marshall our brothers. We have guests. Gyndon, I leave command of the void engagement to you.'  
Gyndon nodded. 'Aye, my lord. Deploy interceptors, bring us to starboard then fire a warning volley…'

Kal Galivrad had been amongst the first into combat. When the greenskins came, they came fast. Far faster than anyone aboard the _Grail Host_ had anticipated. Their crude boarding torpedoes flew at varying speeds, some caught on the void shields, others went shooting over-head. Most impacted the golden hull of the ship's starboard.  
As the leader of the destroyers Blood Angel compliment, it was Galivrad's duty to lead them into battle.  
Galivrad had marshelled them at once. Barricades and strong points manned, maintenance- and serf-ducts were closed off. Ship ratings manned with shotguns manned their stations besides transhumans, ready to kill any who dared these might warriors.  
And the dared.  
First came the small, rodent-like creatures called squigs. They ran squealing, dynamite and improvised explosives chained to them. A defence line met them. Kal Galivrad steely gaze met them.  
Bolt-rounds pulped them, detonating them and their charges twenty meters short of the barricade. A fuselage from him and his two warriors, - Telemoch and Helion - ended their threat before the humans could draw a bead.  
Then came the greens' themselves. Ugly, brutish beasts of green muscle. They wore dirty leather overalls, thumping their chests as they roared incoherent battle cries. Their shots rang out. They shot for the joy of it as they drew blades.  
'Hold fast.' Galivrad said, for the humans.  
The first volley of bolt-rounds into them cut down a few, more took their place. Orks were savage creatures, able to take wounds that even an Astartes would fall to. When it came to orks, the best way to kill them was to either decapitate or blow them to pieces.  
The first to stumble over the barricade reached out at Galivrad with sticky, oily fingers. The sergeant welcomed it with his sword.  
It slammed its fists into his helm, trying to smash him sideways. His sword met the xenos flesh at the neck. The reek of alien blood filled the sergeants' senses through his vox-grill. He pushed the xenos back over the wall, firing his bolt pistol as he did so.  
The humans were manning their positions effectively. The thud-clang of shotguns firing joined the flat thud of bolters. The humans were a dozen paces behind Galivrad, containing any overspill of xenos.  
A pintle-mounted heavy bolter opened up, tearing the heart from the xenos horde. Bodies evaporated, torn apart by the massive rounds. Chunks of meat and goblets of blood turned to a heavy haze. Galivrad saw the horde drop, one by one. Helion was dead, head a mangled chunk of pink meat.  
The humans had bled, a few orks littered their feets.  
'More!' Roared Telemoch, his voice a sour note in a peaceful melody. 'Heavy weapons!'  
These orks wore armour bolted to their flesh. The ork equivalents of heavy bolters, multi-meltas and lascannons clanked into life. They jogged over the dead, weapons barking into life.  
Galivrad fired, noting the lackluster follow up by his fellow defenders.  
A melta beam incinerated Telemoch. He was cocked in his armour, he reached for his helms release as his hands were blown apart by. He roared as he was brought crashing to the deck. Smaller greens stabbed at his vulnerable knee and elbow joint. He smashed them away as he burned. Bones crunched under the weight of his armoured and transhuman physique. They reached his necks soft-seals. Knives of shoddy iron and rusted daggers bit into the skin beneath.  
When Telemoch stopped moving, they went for the humans.  
'Hold the line!' He shouted. 'We are the line between life and death! For the-'  
He felt the spear pierce his thorax. It had entered just beneath his left lung. It tore wide as the ork wielding the power weapon pulled it out, barbs cutting him deeply. He was disoriented, damage rune playing out over his display as he killed the ork with a trio of bolt. He slumped to the ground, not perceiving the ork that had turned his hip into a surrealist art piece. Blood oozed from his wounds, mixing with that of the orks.  
'Eshran…' he croaked.  
'_Sergeant Galivrad_?' Eshran's voice was strong with conviction, undercut by the roar of ork guns around the sergeant.  
He fired once.  
'They have breached…' blood flooded his throat. 'T-the barricade.'  
Eshran roared a command at her crew. '_I shall redirect-__'_  
'No! They have overrun us,' he reached for his power sword, leering orks turned to face him. 'Seal the bulkheads… void this section.'  
The barricade crashed down behind Galivrad, the heavy bolter fell silent as the scream came out.  
Galivrad raised his power sword as an ork brandishing a chain blade bore down on him. 'For the Emperor!' He managed.  
'_For Sanguinius__!'_ Eshran finished.

Hadrubael orbital shipyard, located in high-orbit over the ice-world of Cycleux. Two weeks after Blood Angels dematerialisation  
Words appeared on the display screen of the golden-yellow armoured warriors data-slate. Touching his vox-bead, the warrior spoke once.

**Afterword. Hello everybody, I hope you have been enjoying yourselves. So the orks, a worthy adversary indeed. We also get a little hint to the next chapter at the end there. Golden-yellow? I know, Ultramarines! Till next time, I've been Jam.**


	7. Hiatus

**This fic is now hoinh on Hiatus, I have other works to focus on and I feel like this srty can only go so far. Till I either think of a way to improve/cntine this, I will no long work on this.**


End file.
